A Regular Day

“Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock, tick tock.

One,

One two,

Two,

Twothreefour.

There’s little moments in between the seconds.

Everyone talks about the guy who split the atom, but no one’s mentioned those who are still counting the pieces.

Seeds of destruction. Born from the chaos inside. Moving slowly, moving intentionally.

Calculated.

It’s madness compared to chaos. Dueling pitted against non-dualism. An unstoppable force chasing a movable object. Pulling together. A stillness in push.

Hiding in the hall of records is public information.

A secret.

Free to all.

Everybody knows, but nobody remembers.

Where did I leave that damn key?

It’s here, somewhere. In one of these pieces of time in between the seconds pass as we count backwards.

Like morning dew on the decimals that build in the darkness that happens between sunset and sunrise.

Laying in bed. In the wee hours of the night.

Thinking to oneself.

Where did I leave that damn key?

Tink!

Another drop forms. A moment in time. Just like that.  A new universe has been created.

Just another place for that damned key to hide.

How will you ever check them all?

It’s not impossible.

If you could just stand still, you could count them all.

Start at the end of time and work yourself backwards. Watch yourself be born and watch yourself die. Meet yourself in the middle and you’ll finally be alive. If you can’t find the key by then… You’ve got to do it all over again. ”

I grew up like a pretty regular kid.

In the winter, some mornings, on our walk to school, my sisters and I would walk by these kids that would scream at us and spit at us and call us niggers, tell us go back to Africa, tell us they would kill us. Just because they didn’t like the way we looked I suppose.

It was funny because we never came from Africa. I mean, my grandfather did, at least that’s what I’ve heard. He came from Cape Verde. So I guess that’s Africa, but I’d never been. I’m from Stratford.

Anyways, it wasn’t every day. Some days we would walk the back way. Trudge through the snow behind Sterling house. Cut through the pathway next to the old, haunted graveyard where Goody Bassets’ buried. Cut back to Main Street from the pathway next to the library. That was a much nicer walk.

School was school. We all had uniforms, but in the winter we got to wear our winter jackets, so everyone got to floss a little bit.

It was bittersweet though. I always wanted to have a cool jacket, but mom always said we were poor. I guess that meant only rich kids can have the cool jackets. Sometimes it was hard being a kid. There was lots of rules.

When we got to class, we had to take our jackets off. Once the jackets were off,  I guess the uniforms kind of made us all even. I’m not sure though, We all looked pretty different to me. But then again, I had a lot to learn. That’s what this place for, I suppose.

We all had our own desks. Sometimes we were organized into groups like tiny pods. Sometimes we were organized in a big circle. Sometimes a big “U”. And sometimes we were all In lines and rows, separated from each another. It didn’t matter what they chose, as soon as we started getting used to working with the people around us, they changed the pattern.

There was all types of  rules to sitting at your desk.

If you were good, you got all types of rewards. You raised your hand and waited your turn to speak. When you asked a question… When you asked a question… The good kids never asked questions. Good kids get cool stickers and certificates. Sometimes, if you were good enough you got your name in the paper. Sometimes I got my name in the paper too.

The bad kids always had it a little bit more rough. Everyone I knew in school was good, but not everyone was bad. I don’t know what makes kids bad. Lots of things can make kids bad. I always wanted to be good. In the mornings, when I would wake up, I always felt pretty good. As the days went on, teachers would tell me I was bad.

I never got used to that.

After we put our jackets away and a bell would ring. Once the bell rang we were to stand at our desks.

Standing at our desks we were to face forward and prepare for our morning ritual.

There’s a cross  nailed to the wall in front of the class. A white man, hangs with his head down, wearing a crown of thorns over his long, brown hair. Red paint, imitating blood, drips down onto his sad face. Each arm is spread wide onto the cross and each hand has a large nail driven into the center of it. Red paint, also imitating blood, drips from his hands. His chest and stomach are bare. He is very skinny.. More red paint, imitating blood drips from some sort of line on his ribs. He wears a white skirt around his waist. His feet are crossed, one top of another and a single nail is driven into the center of the feet.. From his feet, there is more dripping, red, paint.

There’s a flag in the left hand corner. Behind the teachers desk. It hangs down, almost equal to, but slightly below the man on the wall. It has stripes, red and white. Red like paint on the man hanging in front of usl and white, like the color of his skirt. In the corner of the flag is a is blue box, full of white stars. Stars like the ones we get next to our name if we’re good.

A voice comes on the intercom. It’s the principle. If we’re good, we listen to our daily announcements. If we’re bad, we don’t pay attention. Soon she finishes and we all turn, in unison, to face the flag. We all begin our pledge of allegiance.

I pledge allegiance.

To the flag.

Of the United States of America.

And to the Republic.

For which it stands.

One Nation.

Under God.

Indivisible.

With liberty.

And justice.

For all.

We turn and face the man hanging on the wall.

We bless ourselves.

In the name of the father. We poke ourselves in the forehead.

In the name of he son. We poke ourselves in the chest.

And the holy spirit, We put our hands together like empty bookends in front of our chests…

To be continued.